


what goes around comes around (just like a flip turn)

by emullz



Series: swim is love, swim is life [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emullz/pseuds/emullz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an au in which the delinquents are instead members of a high school swim team and the season is not, in fact, a "big old fun ride in chiddy chiddy bang bang" like octavia predicts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. warming up (or the part when everyone's just talking)

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on the media (my ff.net and tumblr are also emullz, i also have a 100 blog under the url officialbellarketrash)
> 
> thank you for clicking my humble link i hope you enjoy the words.

Octavia maintained the idea that swimming was fucking torture for the complete sixteen years that she competed. Of course, she was really good at it, for a reason she never understood. She’d always been looking for ways to do less work, less yardage, sit on the side of the pool and watch everyone else swim. For God’s sake, she picked breaststroke as an eight year old because the sets were ten times easier than any other stroke. 

But everyone on the team knew that once you started swimming there was no way out. The team was your family and the pool was your home and the coaches were your really annoying, overly strict parents. Octavia knew that there was a part of her, somewhere very deep down, that would miss swimming if she ever quit. That didn’t mean she had to admit she liked it, though. 

She blamed Bellamy. He was one of those absolutely insane kids that everyone was scared of, the ones that would yell at your for cheating and actually sprint when the coaches told him to and stayed after to finish the 600 warmdown that was assigned. Octavia didn’t know anyone else who actually stayed after to do the entire warmdown. She got out after 4 laps, and he insisted on doing all 24. The only one still in the pool when he got out was Clarke Griffin, and she was insane anyways.

And he swam butterfly. Correction: he liked to swim butterfly. The stroke that had made almost every ten year old who had every jumped in the pool cry, the stroke that used possible every muscle in your body to the point where everything was in so much pain you felt numb, the stroke that Octavia hadn’t done two-armed since high school started. Bellamy was a nationally ranked butterfly legend. Octavia was sometimes horrified to be related to him.

She maintained that it was his fault, that she was constantly ruining her life. He’d been the one who was spending so much time at the pool when she was little and hadn’t had anything else to do with her but bring her along. It wasn’t her fault he was her idol, that she looked up to him in every way. Octavia often reflected on how stupid she’d been as a six year old, the entrance age for Bellamy’s elite club, all excited to do anything and everything her big brother was doing. She always answered the question “what would you do if you had a time machine?” with the same three words: “I’d never swim.” 

There was a sort of club that Octavia belonged to, the kids that were too good to quit after they outgrew JO’s but hated practice with every fiber of their being. It was mostly the sprinters, the kids who swam 50 free and 100 back and had every intention of swimming as little as possible. Monty, their resident backstroker, and Jasper, the freestyler with the crazy but somehow effective stroke that every team has, were her favorites in her lane. Mostly because, once in a blue moon, they’d come to practice stoned and get yelled at for floating underwater at the wall and blowing bubble rings. Also because they were funny as hell. Murphy, who swam the 100 and was a complete jackass about it, had honorary membership because he flipped off the coaches every time they revealed another set but somehow still managed to be one of their favorites, and Raven, the smart one, sometimes managed to wrangle a practice off to work on complex physics or whatever other classes she was taking at the local college. 

And then there was Clarke Griffin. The only person who rivaled Bellamy in star power and insanity was the blonde coach’s daughter. She was one of those people that would refuse to sit with the team before a race, instead glaring at the wall with her headphones in. There was all kinds of speculation around what type of music she was blasting into her ears. Octavia had her money on pop, Jasper thought dubstep, and Monty would be his life on the fact that it was hardcore hip hop. Of course, it must’ve worked, because she usually got in and swam the 500 in under 4:45, sweeping the competition and getting out without even a smile. 

Octavia was a little bit afraid of Clarke. It didn’t help that she was also somewhat afraid of her crazy, doctor turned swim coach mother, who was always the one who called Octavia out on her fake cramps and joint pain. Raven always said that you just had to give the woman a chance, especially after Raven snapped a tendon in her leg. Coach Griffin was the one who did the surgery at the local hospital. Coach Griffin didn’t play favorites, but if she did, Raven would’ve been at the top of her list. And, for whatever reason, Bellamy would’ve been at the bottom. In fact, Bellamy wasn’t at the top of any coach’s list. Not Kane’s, not Griffin’s, and certainly not Jaha’s. The time that he’d done a cannonball into the pool and gotten the coach’s new blazer soaking wet had made sure of that. 

It made life for Octavia hard, because as his little sister, some of the blame transferred to her. Mostly with good reason, but it wasn’t her fault whenever she pressured her brother to have fun and live a little something went drastically wrong. And she wasn’t the only one with a hand in it. Sometimes it was Murphy, sometimes it was Miller, the other flyer in Bellamy’s lane, even Raven had managed to get him out of his comfort zone a couple of times. But, for some reason, it was always Octavia’s fault. 

Clarke was always perfect. She was the golden child in every aspect of the sport. She never missed a practice, not even the optional ones, Octavia had never seen her skip a single lap, and she requested faster intervals when she felt like hers weren’t challenging enough, but she never asked for slower ones when she thought the ones on the board were too fast. She just rose to the challenge. It made Octavia weirdly jealous, because clearly this girl loved swimming enough to let it be her entire life, loved it enough to enjoy the hours of torture she was put through every day. Or, I guess, love it enough to not call it torture. 

But that had all been when it was just club swimming for Octavia, when meets were just for herself and her times and practices were all club coaches and age group lanes and there was one meet at the end of every season and that was it. High school swimming changed all of that. 

The private school high school league was one of the most competitive in the nation, with each participating school boasting at least one Olympic level swimmer and some boasting silver medalists and national record holders. The only real reason Octavia hadn’t quit swimming, besides the immense difficulty she would’ve had trying to disentangle herself from the pool, was the fact that it was what was giving her a full ride to one of the top academic schools in the area. Bellamy wouldn’t let her go anywhere else, and swimming was the only way in. 

So, after three months of freshman year and the ordinary club swimming, the first day of high school swimming was a bit of a shock. Instead of avoiding having to put on her cap and goggles, Octavia found herself up in the stands, looking over the pool with only her new teammates around her. 

The team wasn’t big. Sixteen girls, maybe as many guys. Bellamy’s friends, the ones that Octavia saw around the house sometimes, were sitting in a tight row at the back of the stands. Bellamy stood at the front, facing everyone, with Clarke at his side. Octavia took a seat in between Monty and Jasper, looking at the still water, knowing that soon she’d be immersed and fighting off the cupcake she’d eaten at lunch. 

“Hi, guys,” Clarke said loudly. The area silenced quickly, everyone looking up from their conversations at the pair standing awkwardly in front of them. “Welcome to the first official swim practice of the year. I’m Clarke, the captain of the girl’s team, and this is Bellamy, captain of the boys.”

“But that doesn’t mean that we’re separate teams. We have most meets together and we practice together, and everyone knows how painful swimming can get. We’re in it as one team, not two.” Octavia suppressed a laugh, finally understanding what Bellamy had been practicing in the mirror that morning. “And, for that reason, we’re giving you the day off from the pool. We’ll get a fresh start tomorrow. Today, we’re going to focus on meeting each other, getting to know each other.” 

“Swimming may be classified as an individual sport,” Clarke continued, “but we’re getting ready to go through hell together. We might as well know who’s going to be next to us in the flames.” 

Octavia linked her arm in Monty’s as the team went around saying names, grades, and events in a line. There wasn’t any way she could’ve kept track with all the names, but there was a girl named Monroe in her biology class that swam the 200 freestyle, and another one of the phenomenons Wells, a junior like Clarke who swam the 200 and 400 IM. Octavia gave him silent props. You had to be almost as crazy as a distance swimmer to pull off any type of IM. Being able to sprint every single stroke in a row was a feat Octavia had never been able to pull off. 

“I’m Octavia Blake, I’m a freshman, and I’m that bitch you all hate because I swim only the easy breaststroke sets,” Octavia chimed when it was her turn, grinning at the snorts she heard from behind her. Bellamy pursed his lips, looking vaguely disappointed. The thing that got Octavia, though, was the fact that Clarke smiled- actually smiled- when a joke was cracked. She was actually human. 

Jasper and Monty tag teamed their introductions, ever the dynamic duo, and that was it with the name giving. After that, they headed out to the soccer field and played ultimate frisbee during probably the last nice afternoon of the year, creating an intense rivalry between Team Speedo and Team Decency, the former wearing only their bathing suits and their sneakers, and the latter wearing actual clothes. Bellamy led Team Speedo to a narrow victory over Clarke, and every swimmer went home that night with a pleasant tired feeling and very grass-stained legs. 

On the way home, Octavia asked Bellamy what was going on between him and Clarke. “I mean,” she said, letting her hair stream out the window behind her, enjoying the dry feeling for as long as she had it, “you’re always complaining about how she’s showing you up, taking your limelight, trying to prove she’s better than you, and suddenly you guys are all buddy-buddy putting up a united, High School Musical esque front to the team, like you’re the parents and we’re the kids in the backseat and this is all just gonna be one fun ride in Chiddy Chiddy Bang Bang.” 

Bellamy laughed out loud, heartily, something he only ever seemed to do when it was only Octavia around. “She’s a damn good swimmer and she knows how to lead a team, O. I’ve never been in charge of anything in my life. I need to learn how to take my cues if I’m going to be any kind of success as captain, you know?” 

“You’ve been in charge of me for, what, fifteen years now?” 

Bellamy didn’t turn his head, but Octavia caught his gaze out of the sides of his eyes, a smile creeping up into them. “And look how you turned out, ‘that bitch you all hate.’” 

Octavia punched him in the arm, hard, and the car swerved every so slightly. Neither of them stopped smiling the rest of the way home. 

The next few practices were less smiles and more intense amounts of pain. Since they were, quote unquote, one team, there was one set with modified times that was handed out to the entire pool. When it was distance day, everyone swam 600s together. When it was IM day, everyone did two arm butterfly or they came up to breath and found a kick board flying at their head. And, when it was breaststroke day, Octavia was moved up to the fastest lane with Clarke, Bellamy, and Wells and told to bust her ass. She realized halfway through the set that what she had thought was a leak in her goggles was actually just tears. 

The next day, Monroe had to carry her from class to class and it was backstroke day, otherwise known as Monty’s day to get tortured until he passed out. Every day, Octavia swam her warmup in constant fear that Jaha would stop her at the wall and say, “Blake, lane one.” It was basically a death sentence. But it was, after all, a required death sentence that kept her from having to pay any school expenses whatsoever. Octavia knew better than to complain. Instead, she kept her head down and prayed to every God she knew of that it would be any other day but breaststroke day, and that she would be safe. 

\- -

Bellamy hated watching his sister’s face crumple as she slid into the water at the start of his lane. He hated the way she asked him shakily if he would go in front of her, and he hated the way she’d reach the wall, gasping, only to have three seconds rest before she had to start all over again. The only person who hated seeing Octavia like that more than he did was Wells.

Bellamy hadn’t known the kid for long. Jaha, Wells’ father, was a new coach, brought in because of Bellamy and Clarke’s national recognition. His one task was to make the school a swimming powerhouse. Bellamy knew he had the tools. He knew his teammates, he knew their potential. But he also knew that the way Jaha was going about it was all wrong. It might work for Clarke, and it might work for him, but yelling at Octavia had always been the exact wrong thing to do. She shut down. She failed out of spite. But Jaha just kept yelling, and glaring at Bellamy as if still mad about the blazer incident, insistent on taking it out at his sister. 

But Wells was a good kid. He had his head on straight, and he could swim a damn good 400 IM. But every time Jasper swore as his fingertips touched the wall just in time for the interval to be over, Wells looked a little bit more angry. Bellamy finally understood why when the kid blew up on the pool deck.

“Look!” he was shouting. “Look at all these kids that are terrified, that would rather be anywhere else but in this pool with you breathing down their necks! I like these kids, Dad, and you know how much I love this sport, but I can’t get in every day and know that you’re doing the exact wrong thing for everyone in this pool! You always say I’m the reason that you do it, the reason that you do all of this. Well, maybe if I’m gone you will be too.” 

And then his goggles weren’t on his forehead, they were at Jaha’s feet, and Wells was halfway down the locker room stairs before Bellamy had enough presence of mind to run after him. 

“C’mon, kid,” he pleaded. “We’re a tough team. We can make it through this. But not without you, you’re our voice of reason.” 

“I’m going back to train at Light,” Wells said. Bellamy remembered, very vaguely, hearing about Well’s old team there. “I’m taking my dad with me. He’s a better coach in the city.” 

Bellamy had to nod. The kid was right. It was the best thing to do. For Wells, for Jaha, for the team. It didn’t help that Clarke cried for days afterwards. Losing her best friend was the only thing that seemed to be able to phase her. Bellamy had swam with the girl since the day he’d turned nine, and he’d never seen her balk at a single piece of a single set, never seen her get mad at the coaches, or anybody else in her lane for skipping or swimming slowly in front of her or pulling on her feet. The only person he’d ever seen her get mad at was herself. 

But now, she was mad at everything. He stopped her after practice, two, maybe three days after Wells got on his train back to Light with his father in tow with a hand on her shoulder in the school parking lot. Octavia was waiting for him in his old beat up truck with the lights on. He could see her raising her eyebrows when he asked Clarke if she was okay. 

“Yeah, I just-“ Bellamy watched her breath frost in front of her face in the cold November air. “He was my best friend. I mean, he has been, for a really long time, and he moved here to train with me and now I just feel like I’m losing him, which is so incredibly stupid because it’s not like anything’s changed from when we were first friends, he’s always lived far away, I just thought that it would be different and I’d finally have a friend that was close and would be able to understand everything, and I’m really sorry, you probably have to go home and I’m talking your ear off-“ 

“It’s fine, Princess,” Bellamy said, watching the words curl as vapor into the space between them, just barely catching the smile on her lips as he dragged out the old childhood nickname. “I get it. You want someone who understands that the pool is your life and can bring over bags of ice and junk food when you can barely get off of your couch because of From A Dive Fridays.” 

Clarke closed her eyes and took a deep breath, ready to spout out the same self-sacrificing bullshit she always did about how she was the one who chose this life, and it was dumb to expect people to understand. Bellamy stopped her in her tracks. 

“It’s not too much to ask for, Clarke. It’s never too much to ask for a friend. But you know what is kinda stupid?” Bellamy watched the water drip from the end of Clarke’s ponytail and onto her collar. “Ignoring all the ready made friends you already have swimming one lane over.” 

Bellamy walked over to his truck and got in without another word to Clarke. He did wait until she was in her car, a much shinier and quieter one than his, and let her pull out of the parking lot first. 

“What the hell was that, Bell?” Octavia asked indignantly, turning up the heat. The vents rattled. 

“She’s been upset over Wells, and I thought I’d see if she was okay. Is that a crime?” Bellamy gripped the steering wheel hard. 

“Worry about the Ice Princess’ feelings on a night when we aren’t in danger of being too late to watch MasterChef,” Octavia grumbled, angling all the vents toward her. Bellamy didn’t fix them, just handed Octavia his coat at the next red light and let himself shiver for a little bit on the way home. 

The next day, Bellamy was standing up in the bleachers again, nervous out of his mind. The kids looked at him lazily, still in their school clothes. Bellamy noticed with a twinge of annoyance that Octavia’s skirt was a lot underneath the minimum length. He was all for her being a feminist and rebelling against the dress code, but he didn’t really like the way that Atom was eyeing her, or the way that she smiled back. 

“As you all witnessed,” Clarke began suddenly, “Coach Jaha went back to his position at his old school in the city.” There was a cough and a couple of laughs directed at his sister. Bellamy bristled. 

“The only coach the school has been able to provide us with on such short notice is no more than a glorified chaperone to make sure we don’t drown,” Bellamy continued gruffly. “This puts the responsibility of this team on Clarke and I. We’ll schedule practice, we’ll write the sets, we’ll be there to support each and every one of you.” 

“But we can’t be watching you during practice to make sure that you aren’t slacking off. It needs to come from you. This loss hurt all of us, but it’s our responsibility now to show all our competitors that it doesn’t take a coach to make us great. We’re just going to have to become great ourselves.” 

Clarke nodded at Bellamy, and he stepped forward. “We have three weeks until our first meet, and it’s against the Grounders. We’re not going to take this meet lightly, but I’m going to tell you something that you need to carry with you all season. It doesn’t matter how you swim in three weeks. That’s after we break you down, after we tear every muscle fiber in your body. What matters is how good we are at the end of the season. How well we do after we build you all back up. So let’s everyone get into their suits and be on the pool deck, ready to practice in ten minutes.” 

Bellamy watched proudly as the team filed out of the stands and down into the locker room, girls to the left and boys to the right. Clarke bumped his shoulder with hers. 

“You ready for Murphy to flip you off when you show everyone the set?” 

Bellamy laughed. “Princess, he’s been flipping me off since we were in Kindergarten. I can handle it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm a swimmer and a lot of these terms make sense to me and i'm sorry if they don't for you. basically a 100=4 laps, an IM (individual medley) is when you swim every stroke in a particular order, and, i don't know, maybe you have other questions i'm happy to answer them please ask.
> 
> i hope you like it. it's not finished though. there will be three chapters. the next one will focus on their rival school, the grounders (lol also linctavia) and, well, please leave constructive criticism and come find me on my tumblr/ff.net if you want (both emullz or b3ll4rke, whichever one you prefer)


	2. the meet (or the part when everyone's just happy they don't have practice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter where there is a dance party, murphy gets drunk and has a salsa mishap, and the students of the Ark face up against the Grounders in a swim meet to the death (or, you know, just to the other side)

The next three weeks of practice were a particular kind of hell that Monty hadn’t before experienced in his short and fairly privileged life. He was very used to just being good enough at swimming as it was; the minimum amount of effort he put in was always just the right amount to qualify him for whatever big meet the team was headed for. 

Monty hadn’t ever really known why he swam. Being a backstroker hadn’t ever been worth the work that he could’ve put in. Nothing inspired him to try harder in the pool every day, nothing drove him to want to be better than he was. And then, Bellamy and Clarke became the coaches. 

They were fast. They were smart. And they knew exactly what to say to each and every swimmer to get them in the water and working. Clarke payed attention to Monty, she tweaked his stroke, she took time out of swimming her set to come over and check that he was keeping his head still while he was pulling with his arms. Once, on a tuesday night, she gave him half a practice off because he had a test in his accelerated science class, the class he’d been slipping in since most of his time had become compromised with swimming. 

Octavia was asking for the times to be adjusted, Jasper hadn’t blown underwater bubble rings for weeks, and Bellamy even had Raven back in the water. After practice, a lot of days, they’d all climb into the seniors’ cars and drive to pick up food. That was the beauty of having Clarke as a Team Mom: she forced food down your throat. Swimming burned more calories than any other sport, and the team ate like it. They wolfed down pints of Ben & Jerry’s, footlong sub sandwiches, and king sized candy bars. Then, they all went home and ate dinner. Monty wasn’t sure his mother had ever been to a grocery store that wasn’t incredible local and organic, but with the appetite he had after practice, she was swallowing her pride and heading to Costco to buy in bulk. 

They were like a very big, very weird, and very hungry family. And they were fast, too. Octavia was dropping time in her 100 breast every time Bellamy brought a stopwatch, Jasper’s stroke (while still weird looking) was now effective, and even Murphy had stopped cursing them out every time he took a breath and had clocked in under 50 seconds for his last time trial of his 100 free. 

It seemed like things would be a little more than okay going into the first meet of the season. And then, the week before the meet, they all got food poisoning. 

They’d gone to Clarke’s house as a team, the night before. It was one of those Friday night “let’s pretend we have a social life regardless of the fact that swimming allows us no time for one” parties where all they did was inhale chips and salsa and get into epic Just Dance battles. Octavia always won, because there was this way that she completely committed to every move that made her look like the people on the screen, and everyone else was just flailing around. Jasper kept hitting people with his Wii remote during the arm movements and Bellamy refused to participate until Octavia convinced him to do Careless Whisper with her. It was amazing. Everyone was pissed.

Monty didn’t understand why the Blake family got to be good at so many things. It wasn’t like it nobody else on the team had other talents, Clarke had a thing for drawing, Miller still did Judo, Raven was the best mechanic they’d ever met, and Monty wrote code in his spare time. Hell, even Murphy had the ability to drink anyone into a ditch at any time of day. But it seemed like with anything Bellamy or Octavia tried, they were the best ones in the room. 

Monty’s theory was only proven when, the next day at practice, both Blakes proved to be the best at vomiting in socially acceptable places. It was infuriating. 

Clarke chalked it up to the salsa that they’d eaten, and all heads turned to Murphy.

“Shit, I didn’t know she put something in it!” he’d exclaimed, both hands in the air. 

Clarke stumbled over to the trash can and Bellamy took over, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. “Who did you get it from, Murphy?” he asked tiredly. 

“I don’t know, some chick over by the bar I hang out at. I forgot we had that thing, and I skipped practice anyways, so I asked the bartender if he could give me something to bring you guys as a peace offering and she just handed me the jar.” Murphy’s eyes went wide. “Fuck, I didn’t realize how sketchy that sounds. I was drunk, okay?” 

“Why would someone give Murphy poisoned salsa?” Miller called loudly from the bathroom. “He’s not that much of a dick.” 

Murphy looked put out. 

“Okay, okay, everyone call your parents and get a ride home. We can’t practice right now.” Clarke offered the trash can to Bellamy, who shook his head. “I can get you guys home,” she told him softly, “as long as you don’t yell at me for pulling over and throwing up in your hands.” 

He nodded, and then did a double take. “You aren’t actually going to throw up in my hands, are you?”

Clarke smiled grimly. “There’s no way to tell. If its any consolation, you can throw up in mine, too.” 

“Thanks, Princess,” Bellamy joked, sweat still dripping down his forehead. “That’s real sweet of you.” 

They stayed, taking turns throwing up, until they had watched every member of the team but Monty get into a car and be driven away with promises to text both Bellamy and Clarke in an hour saying whether they got home okay and how they were doing. Both kids (because no matter how many sets they wrote or how many laps they swam, that’s what they were) slumped against the wall of the pool building when they were done, Bellamy letting out a groan and Clarke pressing a hand to her stomach. Octavia bounced out of the locker room, chipper and alert. 

“Are you ready to go home?” 

Both Bellamy and Clarke fixed her with glares that would fell any adult. Octavia just pulled a disgusted face. “Ew.” Her eyes met the sweat on Bellamy’s face and in Clarke’s hair. “Thank God I don’t like salsa.” 

Monty couldn’t help but laugh. And, then, throw up in his car several times on the way home when his mom finally managed to pick him up. It was really a great day. 

\- -

For Bellamy, there was no escape from the pool. The first time that he ever had a girl over to his house, it was to plan a freaking swim meet. He’d let Octavia go hang out at Harper’s for the night with the promise that she’d meet him at practice the next morning, and he’d ordered pizza, and driven extra slow and careful on his way home so she could follow him in her shiny silver car. 

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew their history, their subconscious rivalry that had been present since their first meet. He knew that, before this year, every conversation they’d ever participated in had become an argument. He also knew that, since becoming pretty much the sole leaders of the team, they’d learned to work pretty well together, and he didn’t want to screw it up because he wasn’t hospitable enough. 

He also wanted to impress her a little bit. She’d always had the nicest goggles, the fluffier towels, the best fastskins money can buy. He wanted to show her that what he had, while significantly cheaper, was just as good. 

Bellamy was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t flinch at his rundown house, or the patchy lawn. Clarke just acted like she owned the place (something she did everywhere) and strolled right on it, plopping herself down and asking how much longer he’d think the pizza would take and would he mind splitting the cost, because she hated feeling like she couldn’t eat as much as she wanted to be courteous.

She wasn’t kidding. The girl ate an entire pizza by herself.

Clarke laughed when he caught her eating the final slice. “It’s my own fault,” she said, her mouth full of cheese. “I wrote the set that kicked my ass, so it’s my fault I just ate more than is humanly possible.” 

“I swam the same set, and I’m only on slice five,” Bellamy countered. 

“Yeah, but you eat a real lunch. My mom’s big on nutrition, you know, so she packs a lot of shit like kale chips and protein shakes and dried seaweed that I can’t physically swallow.” Clarke finished her bite and smiled. “Plus, now you don’t have to deal with leftovers!”

“Isn’t your mom a coach? I was under the impression coaches know how many calories we need. Usually they’re telling me to gain muscle mass and eat more carbs.” 

Clarke snorted. An honest to god snort. “I wish. My mom thinks I’m a swimming poster child, not an actual human being. The only reason she lets me swim for school is to fulfill my sports requirement.” 

Bellamy almost didn’t know what to say. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes plenty of sense. She wants me to be the best. We have different ideas on what my limitations are, but I’m a big girl. I can stand up for myself.” Clarke finished her final piece of crust and polished it off by licking her fingers. “Now let’s talk business. The Girls A Medley Relay. I was thinking me, Octavia, Harper, and then Roma.”

“You can’t start for shit, Princess.” 

“I agree wholeheartedly with that assessment, but it’s a backstroke start and I’m good at those, and since Raven’s out of the picture for fly, Harper has to be our backup.” Clarke took some notes on a legal pad she’d procured seemingly out of nowhere. “Normally I wouldn’t put a freshman in the A for the first meet, but this is important and O is doing really well right now-“ 

“We have to be smart about this. Throw everything we’ve got at them.” Bellamy waited until Clarke looked up from her paper. “This can’t be objective, Clarke. They’re faster than us. But we want this a million times more than they do. If there’s one thing we have that they don’t, it’s grit. So let’s figure out who’s going to work the hardest, and put them where they’ll do the best. Then we’ll fill the gaps.” 

Clarke scribbled something down on her paper and blushed when Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “What?” she asked defensively. “That was a really good pep talk! There’s no harm in writing it down so you don’t forget it.” 

Bellamy stole the pad and declared himself the Scribe, and then Clarke made fun of him for using the word “scribe” in casual conversation, and Bellamy countered that this wasn’t casual conversation it was a strategic war meeting. When Clarke conceded, they buckled in and spent the rest of the night arguing over who should swim where and in which lane and why Edy’s was the best bargain ice cream. 

The funny thing was, Bellamy noticed, that the argument wasn’t the way they used to be. It was silly, and productive, and it challenged him and made him laugh. He didn’t know when Clarke Griffin would ever stop surprising him, but he hoped it wouldn’t be for a while. 

\- -

The meet crept up on Octavia. It was partially due to the fact that meets for her had always been a huge spectacle, revolving around waking up at five in the morning to drive to remote college pools and hundreds of people lining up and writing event, heat and lane numbers up and down their arms in sharpie. She wasn’t used to the idea that she had to get through a day of school and then get ready. Dual meets were entirely new territory, and Octavia wasn’t sure if she was ready for it yet. 

But, whether or not she was prepared didn’t matter. It was Tuesday, and the meet was at four. They filed out onto the pool deck at 3:05, wearing their outrageously tight team suits (Octavia understood the need to minimize drag, but she also recognized the fact that breathing was important too) and their Ark sweatshirts. There was a lot of milling around, placing towels down on the bench, claiming seats, and general avoidance of the pool. Octavia and Harper, the two freshmen, struggled to put the touch pads in without dropping them on their toes. Clarke paced back and forth on the deck, something Octavia hadn’t ever seen her do. She always looked so collected before meets, like she knew without a doubt that she was going to dive in a break a record. 

Octavia glanced at her brother, doing the classic swimmer focus pose (legs spread out, elbows on knees, head down). He was usually so animated before meets, dancing around, blasting 2000s pop songs, getting amped up. It made Octavia nervous to see their leaders doing the exact opposite of what had worked for them since they were both six and going to their first gingerbread mini-meets.

Octavia couldn’t blame them. Murphy had pointed at a girl with a lot of smudged eye makeup on and announced that it was her who had given him the salsa in the bar (they still blamed him for taking it, because who accepts dipping sauce from strangers). It wasn’t like this school was just their rival, they had actually tried to give them food poisoning. Octavia didn’t know what they thought they were playing at, but the Grounders were certainly determined to win, and they didn’t really care who had to puke to get them there.

“Okay, guys, caps and goggles on,” Clarke said, interrupting Octavia’s thoughts and sounding oddly chirpy. “Just get in and swim what you need to swim. Jasper, Murphy, don’t think I won’t notice if you sit on the wall the entire time.” There, Octavia thought, was the real Clarke. 

“Sir yes sir!” Jasper barked, and dove sideways into the pool, starting his first lap with that insane arm movement of his. Monty gave Murphy a quick shove and suddenly he was bobbing at the start of the lane, spluttering curses at the entire team, most of which was doubled over with laughter. Octavia watched with an odd sort of satisfaction as her team turned back into her team, and then she was in the pool, her brother’s arms wrapped around her waist. 

Octavia placed one hand on each shoulder and pushed him under the water as retaliation for the flying tackle, but instead of pushing off the bottom like she’d expected, he grabbed her feet and yanked, using that momentum to propel himself to the surface. When Octavia reemerged, she splashed the smug grin off of his face. Bellamy breaststroke kicked away quickly, starting his warmup before Octavia could get too much water in his eyes. 

“Jasper, I’m really glad you were the first one in, but that doesn’t mean you can do one lap and then stop!” Bellamy called as he pulled his head up from his stroke, arms still slicing effortlessly through the water. “At least do a 200!” 

“Ugh, fine,” Octavia heard Jasper groan as he pushed off the wall. It looked like a normal practice, all splashing water and groaning sophomores and flip turns. And then the locker room doors burst open and then Grounders walked into the pool. 

Nobody stopped swimming. They knew better than to give the other team the satisfaction of knowing they stopped you dead in the water. They just started kicking that much harder, moving that much faster. Even Murphy put his head down and stopped complaining when he saw the scowls on every face that walked up the stairs. 

Octavia finished her slow warmup and climbed out of the pool, stretching her shoulder and watching their “glorified chaperone,” a student teacher named Wick, greet the team and the officials. She hoped fervently that he didn’t try and employ any of the terrible water based puns he was famous for. If there was one thing swimming officials tended never to do, it was smile in any way, shape, or form. 

It was a relief to everyone in the pool when Clarke climbed out, and placed her dripping hand into the official’s dry one. “I’m sorry,” Octavia caught over the splashing of water. “Our coach had a family emergency two weeks into the season and, well, it’s been up to the captains and this buffoon to keep everything together.” 

And then, Octavia understood why she’d always gotten the feeling that Clarke could not be human. The official laughed. Actually laughed. Octavia had never met anyone who’d been able to charm adults in such a way that Clarke was able to, always elevating herself to the status of equal socially while still standing under the pretext of being “a good kid.” Bellamy had always been good with little kids, helping them feel at ease, making them feel special, getting down to their level. That had never helped him much with authority figures, never given him a leg up socially the way that Clarke always seemed to use her social skills. 

It struck Octavia, in that moment, how perfect the two of them working together were. And then, caught in her thoughts, she misplaced her foot and the slickness of the deck took over, wrenching her feet out from underneath her and slamming her head down onto the block at the start of the lane. 

There was blood, she remembered hazily, and a lot of pain and blackness and strong hands and Bellamy’s hovering, pained face and then Clarke’s pinched-together eyebrows with the little wrinkle in the middle and Jasper’s towel wrapped around her shoulders and then she recognized the hard benches of the hallway outside the pool and her eyes shot open, because there was a meet going on and she was missing it. 

A huge, blurry, drawn on guy was holding her feet in his lap and she scrambled backwards, ignoring the pain in her head. 

“Thank God,” he said gruffly. Octavia’s vision cleared, and she took in the complicated swirls that covered his scalp and the book that he hastily shut and put behind him on the bench. “I was getting bored out here.” 

“Where’s Bellamy?” Octavia asked defensively, wrapping her arms around her stomach, painfully aware that all she was wearing was a skintight bathing suit and Jasper’s Tinker Bell towel. 

“He couldn’t leave the meet, and since I’m not allowed to swim anyway I thought I’d sit with you until the Nurse gets here. I’m Lincoln, by the way.” He held out his hand and Octavia took it cautiously. There were graphite smears on his fingers, but he gave a good handshake, and Octavia wondered fleetingly what else his hands were good at. 

“Why can’t you swim?” Octavia asked as she took her hand back and let her fingers probe around the back of her skull, finding a lump the size of an egg. “I mean, you look like you’d be good at it and all.” 

“I am,” Lincoln responded, watching Octavia wince as she seemingly catalogued her injuries. “But I went to an art museum with my class yesterday instead of skipping and going to practice, so my punishment is sitting out.”

Octavia lifted one eyebrow and grinned mischievously, a trick she’d picked up from Monty during one of their first Mini Meets when they were seven. “So that’s why you were drawing. Can I see it?” 

Lincoln blushed and Octavia almost burst out laughing. “Come on, Lincoln, I’m as bored as you are. And it can’t be as bad as swimming in the meet.” 

She watched the smile light up his face as he grudgingly reached behind him on the bench and pulled out the sketchbook. When he flipped to the first page, Octavia knew that her mouth was mirroring his. 

\- -

When the starter went off for the 500 free, Clarke was the last one off the blocks. Sure, she was notorious in the swimming world for her terrible dives (one of the many reasons she was a terrible sprinter), but this was a particularly bad one on her part. Her mind was swirling in a way that it never had during a meet, constant fears and doubts and general unrest. The kind of things that she’d always counted on swimming to drive away, not bring the the forefront of her mind. 

Distance was her version of calmness, and suddenly it was a whirlwind. She felt the pain of every stroke, and she could feel her pace lagging behind at the first 100 mark. Clarke was positive this was her worst breakout 100 in years. 

And then she took her stroke into the wall and flipped, seeing a fleeting glimpse of Octavia, Raven, Monty, and Jasper. The tight pull of her muscles turned into fuel as Clarke fired her body forward, catching up to her biggest competition, Anya. At the final turn, Clarke took her breath and saw Bellamy, leaning against the wall and staring at her with an intensity she’d only ever seen him with before his races. When he raised his eyebrows, seemingly in a challenge, Clarke knew what she had to do. 

With a final burst of her legs, Clarke powered herself through the final lap of the race, glancing up at the clock and noticing the familiar 1 next to her name before the time. 4:49.97. 

Clarke had to look twice before she let the smile take over her face

Her hand settled itself into Anya’s, but her breathless “good job” was lost within the roar of her teammates. Breaking a 4:50 was something to scream about, and while they didn’t know much else about distance, they did know Clarke’s time was exceptional. 

Clarke pulled herself out of the pool with some difficulty, needing help from both Raven and Monty. Once on the deck, she wrapped herself in a towel and returned to her place next to Bellamy, holding a clipboard and a stop watch. 

“Nice race, Princess,” he said, bumping his shoulder against hers. Clarke felt a smile taking over the corners of her lips, and she looked over at Bellamy’s clipboard in a desperate attempt to cover it up. 

“That first split is a piece of shit,” Clarke groaned. “I can’t believe I went out that slowly.” 

“You just got the pool record. Again. I think maybe it’s time to relax and accept that you swam a great race.” Bellamy gave her a rare smile. “I’d say it was a little better than great, but I don’t want you to get a big head.” 

“Says the guy who beat Gustus Alexander by pretty much a whole second in the fly.” Bellamy didn’t respond, just started up his stopwatch when the guys dove in to start their 500. Clarke watched with a little bit of anxiety as Murphy took out his first 200 like a madman, practically sprinting the whole thing. 

“Why is he swimming this again?” Clarke asked, watching the Grounder get closer and closer to him with every stroke. 

Bellamy smiled grimly. “He only knows how to swim freestyle and he pissed us off right before we wrote the lineup, remember?” Clarke hummed in assent. 

They both leaned back, content to just listen to the cheers of their teammates, as Murphy pulled out a second place finish by the skin of his teeth and got out cursing both captains and everyone else involved in the making of the lineup. The officials pretended not to notice when Murphy told Bellamy to go fuck himself, while Clarke did nothing but crack up. 

Clarke watched as person after person dove into the pool and dropped immense amounts of time. She was surprised to notice that she didn’t really care how fast she specifically was swimming or how much time she dropped personally. Sure, achieving her goal of breaking five minutes was a big deal, but she was more excited when Monroe came in fifth in the backstroke and finally got under a 1:10, and when the 200 free B relay just barely out touched the Grounders to get them 3rd. 

And, when Clarke watched as Bellamy dove in last for the 400 free relay two body lengths behind the Grounders’ best sprinter and managed to come back enough to touch less than .1 seconds in front of him, Clarke screamed and jumped into their lane with the rest of their team, dignity be damned. 

She knew she’d said at the beginning of the season that the end was all that mattered, but it still felt damn good to be winning, especially with all the people that were treading water around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you have questions about swim terminology pls ask them i would love to give you some of the extensive knowledge i have about the dumb swimming world and all of its rules)
> 
> this is long. it's convoluted. i hope you like reading it as much as i liked writing it.


	3. taper (or the best freaking part of the whole season)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> raven puts in her two cents while octavia and bellamy do sibling things. oh, and clarke talks about her tinker bell towel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TERMS: 
> 
> taper= resting time for your body. its sort of like you kick your own ass for 3 months, and then the week before a meet you do nothing but stretch out your muscles and give your body time to recover. for swimmers, that means easy practices and long intervals and bliss in general. 
> 
> meet announcing= basically someone holds a microphone, announced who's swimming behind which block in case everyone forgets, and then tells mr starter to begin. it's a job for freshmen, managers, and people who are injured (at least on my team, idk about everyone elses')
> 
> PriSeas is short for Private Schools on the Eastern Seaboard. It's a made up meet, sort of bases off of a high school meet that my school attends. It basically brings together a ton of private high schools from all over the east coast and it's kinda like a club swim meet but with school pride. 
> 
> that's the end of this chapter's glossary. pls enjoy!!

Raven was happy, really happy, for the first time in a long time. It wasn’t like the injury with her leg made her useless, but it was pretty damn close, and the feeling of sitting on the pool deck every day and watching people do laps around her was shittier than she’d expected. It used to be that she’d get to skip a 200 and she’d rejoice, but swimming was funny that way. It crept up on you, the amount you really loved it. 

The thing Raven had really missed had been the silence that came with submerging her head underwater. And flip turns. She really missed flip turns. But then Bellamy and Clarke took over, and they didn’t toss her to the side the way Jaha had. They treated her like more than just the girl with the injury. They treated her like a member of the team. 

And she was getting back in the water, slowly. The tendon was healed, if the doctors could be trusted, but Raven was in a lot of pain and her legs were weak. She wasn’t supposed to do breaststroke kick for fear the weakened tendon would snap again. But Bellamy had her swimming butterfly, working harder than she’d ever worked when she was at her peak, and they’d beaten the Grounders by the narrowest of margins. 

So, yeah, swim season was making her happy. Raven didn’t think she’d ever hear those words come out of her mouth in that order, but that was the way of things. 

And then the meets started rolling through, thick and fast, taking over practice time and forcing her to help the inadequate buffoon of a chaperone figure out how to announce the meet. Raven didn’t know how on earth this guy had managed to receive his lifeguarding certification, because he was the most incompetent man she had ever met. And it wasn’t like he made up for it in other areas. The guy was right out of college, took a student teaching position at a private school as something to do on his way to higher engineering education, and yet Raven still managed to best him in her AP science courses every single day. 

It was the way he looked at her when she won that Raven didn’t like. She wasn’t used to people looking at her that gently. Finn’s eyes had always looked at hers with that sparkle of mischief, and he was gone, anyways, training with some nationally ranked coach in LA. Raven was tired of people running away when things got tough, and Wick was the first person she’d expect to hop on a train to some safety school when his dream of MIT got in danger of failing. 

And Raven didn’t learn all of this about him voluntarily. The guy wouldn’t shut up about this or that, asking her when they were going to “get their stoichiometry on” or if the “damn mechanic” knew how to explain the equation with the magnets to her. It wasn’t like calculus based physics was hard, or anything, he was just looking for ways to get her riled up. It seemed like it was all the guy did, screw with Raven. It wasn’t her fault she worked at the local car garage to pay for her part of the tuition that wasn’t covered by her scholarship. Calling her a “damn mechanic” wasn’t going to change the fact that the bills needed to be paid. 

But Wick kept running his mouth, and Raven kept giving him the finger over her shoulder while she worked on something that was always a million times as important as arguing with some stuck up engineer, and she didn’t know why fighting with him put a smile on her face, but it always did. It didn’t help that he was always getting her an extra chair to rest her leg, or that he was the first person to bring her ice when she dragged herself out of the pool at the end of practice, her face screwed up in pain as she hobbled off the deck. 

He was sweet, but Raven didn’t need his help. And, anyways, he was practically a teacher. Even using hostility to flirt with him was very much against the rules. 

So Raven let the meets fly by as she sat at the announcer’s table, reading out last names and giving Wick the finger at every advance. They won some, and they lost some, but no team who came through their pool could deny that each and every one of them had more heart than they’d ever seen. 

But all their time wasn’t all spent in the pool, or even in the classroom. They spent so much time kicked out of class for sleeping, eating without permission, and just generally being smartasses that the entire faculty called them “The Delinquents.” It was an instant fan favorite. And it gave Murphy an excuse to skip out on mornings in favor for detention.

Raven remained happier than she’d ever been. Until, of course, she realized that the season was coming to a close. PriSeas was in two weeks, and Raven wasn’t at all prepared for the life that came after swimming. 

Of course, as Clarke often reminded her, those two weeks would only be mostly a piece of cake. They didn’t start taper for another two days. 

So Raven stopped her wallowing and dove back into the pool. When she climbed out, she was too tired to do anything but accept the ice pack from Wick and almost fall asleep driving herself home.

\- -

Bellamy found out about Octavia and Lincoln a week before PriSeas by way of a drawing. He was doing her sheets, like he always did on Sundays (because let’s face it, if he didn’t do it nobody would), and he stepped on something that made a very interesting crackling sound. There was always important papers on her floor that she lost mysteriously, and Bellamy picked it up in case it was page 3 of a very important paper that the stapler had somehow missed (a situation that had happened more than once).

Instead, it was a careful sketch of his sister’s face, and the way the light looked across her cheekbones, carefully dated to about a week before. There was a signature on the bottom, and as Bellamy squinted to make it out the door creaked. Octavia made her way in carefully with a stack of laundry piled higher than her head and placed the top half on her bed. 

“The rest of it is yours, so-“ her eyes went wide as she took in Bellamy’s expression, and then the paper he held. “Why do you have that?” 

“I stepped on it while I was doing your sheets. Why, is this something I shouldn’t be seeing?” Bellamy’s eyes narrowed and Octavia gulped like a bad Disney Channel actress.

“No, it’s just something that- well, Lincoln drew it for me, it’s not a big deal or anything, it’s just a drawing, I don’t-“ 

“You mean the big, hulking Grounder with the sharpie problem?” Bellamy asked incredulously. “Why is he drawing pictures of you?”

“We kind of spent the entire meet together, and he was nice, and he’s an artist-“ Octavia twisted the hem of her shirt in her hands, all laundry abandoned on the floor. 

“It’s been two months since then, and you’re telling me it’s just because he’s nice? Somehow I don’t believe that, O.” Bellamy had to stop himself from clenching his fist around the drawing. “And he’s a Grounder.” 

“What does that have to do with anything? You’ve got a different girl on your arm every week-“ Octavia practically screamed. Bellamy’s response was immediate. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it, swimming comes before girls-“ 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Octavia said, tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. “Swimming comes before everything.” 

Octavia’s face crumpled as Bellamy dropped her sheets and walked out, collapsing onto her bare mattress and a pile of his T-shirts.

\- -

When Clarke arrived back at the pool on Monday, she didn’t expect to see Bellamy yelling at half the team, and she certainly didn’t expect Octavia to be nowhere in sight. Bellamy had the freshmen close to tears and the sophomores ready to throw a punch when Clarke stepped in front of them.

She faced Bellamy dead in the eye and suppressed the urge to stand on her tiptoes to level the playing field. “What the hell, Bellamy?” 

“I’ve tolerated them being late to practice all year, but this is the last straw! I shouldn’t have to make sure that everyone gets in the pool and starts warmup before I can dive in fifteen minutes late, especially not the week before the biggest meet of the year!” Bellamy pulled his goggles over his eyes and started to push his way past Clarke and towards the blocks. 

“Don’t you dare dive in, Blake, we are not done talking!” Clarke called after his back. She watched him enter the water as fluidly as she always did, and then she turned back to the rest of her teammates. “Boys, get in the pool.” 

Clarke waited until the boys had shuffled over to their respective lanes to confront the rest of her team. “What’s going on? And don’t give me the usual bullshit, I can’t fix it if you’re trying to keep sensitive matters away from me.” She watched as the girls all started at the tile beneath their feet. 

“Um,” Harper began, “Octavia left right after Bio. Well, I mean, she grabbed her books really fast and kind of sprinted out the door, and she’s not here, so…” 

“What she means is that the Blakes are fighting and we’re getting the shit end of the stick,” Monroe huffed, rolling her eyes. “I can’t listen to him yell at me anymore. I’m sorry I’m not nationally ranked and completely insane, but that’s not an excuse to call me an asshole!”

“That fucker,” Clarke muttered under her breath. The faces of the girls on the deck suddenly looked into hers, half with smiles and half looking very, very scared. Clarke addressed them all. “Sorry, guys. Just get in and start I guess. Wick has the set. I’ll get him out of here and I’ll pull his head out of his ass.” 

Clarke let everyone begin the warmup before she jumped into her lane, right before Bellamy began his flip turn. He came up for air with this stupid indignant look on his face, and Clarke could barely maintain her anger. “What’s going on, Bellamy?” 

“Nothing,” he said tightly, and Clarke couldn’t stand to look at the scowl on his face. So, in retaliation, she put one hand on each of his shoulders and pushed him under the water. When he resurfaced, she was looking at a glare. “What the hell!” 

“You don’t get to yell at the team for something stupid and arbitrary without consequences!” Clarke splashed the water in his face once for emphasis. “It’s juvenile and demoralizing and I thought you were better than that!”

“You’re one to talk,” Bellamy grumbled, wiping water out of his eyes. 

“At least I’m talking! At least I’m communicating with you! I don’t know what happened today, maybe you’re just having a shitty week, but I seem to remember someone telling me that I shouldn’t ignore the friends that I have swimming right next to me, and I also seem to remember that you’re not the total asshole I thought you were. So please, explain to me why you’re proving my memory false.” Clarke watched Bellamy’s eyes drop to the surface of the water and she knew that she’d hit a nerve. Clarke waited for him to yell back. When he didn’t, she spoke again.

“Come on, let’s go take a walk or something. Skipping a half hour of taper isn’t going to ruin our season.” Bellamy climbed out of the pool right behind Clarke, and she passed him a towel. He took it silently and walked out of the doors. Clarke followed quickly, wrapping herself in her Tinker Bell towel and padding up the stairs in bare feet. 

She followed Bellamy up into the bleachers and sat down beside him in their corner, him leaning his back against the wall and crossing his legs, Clarke drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around her shins. His hair dripped down onto his lap and Clarke thought about all the times she’d been overwhelmed and ended up here, with Bellamy, letting him talk her down from a ledge. 

“What’s going on, Bellamy?” Clarke asked softly, dipping her head to catch his eyes. 

“Octavia really hates swimming,” Bellamy began, and Clarke could feel a puzzled expression taking over her features, but she knew he was going somewhere important, so she kept her mouth shut.

“I mean, she’s never liked it all that much, but she kept it up, you know? And I never knew why, it wasn’t like she was working hard or anything but- I was always here. I was always at the pool, and my mom was always working, and she hated being home alone. And I always thought that I put her first, before anything-“ Bellamy took a deep, shuddering breath- “but I guess I’m just full of shit, aren’t I? Because swimming always comes first.”

Clarke let the silence stretch out until it was almost unbearable, just to be sure he was done. “Bellamy… it’s just a sport.” 

Bellamy’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?” 

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh. “I know and you know that this is something we love, something we’re going to pour our whole heart into. Right?” She waited for him to nod and then continued. “But it’s not life or death. It’s diving in and holding your breath and getting to the other side. We only say it’s that important because all the dumbasses on our team only believe ten percent of what we say, and ten percent of life and death is a pretty accurate description of swimming’s importance.” 

Clarke watched as Bellamy’s mouth slipped into a crooked sort of smile. 

“You feel better, Champ?” Clarke said leaning over to bump his shoulder with his. Bellamy let out a little huff of a laugh.

“Yeah.” Bellamy’s head pulled up and his eyes were finally level with Clarke’s. “Thanks, Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i had originally planned to make this 3 chapters but it sort of got away from me so i guess its gonna be 4 now. thanks for sticking with me through this. hope you liked it. again, sorry for all the swimming terms. pls ask if you need help explaining stuff.


	4. Finals (or the part that they've been working towards for the entire season)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter that you find out what kind of music clarke listens to before the race, finally get some murphy pov (and offensive comments because hey, it's john murphy what did you expect), and, well, they kick the mountain men's ass in the final meet of the season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SWIM TERMS: 
> 
> kneeskin/fastskin: basically the suits that they wear at the olympics (but, you know, anything past the knee/shoulder was banned and guys don't wear the top part anymore because that's tacky) http://www.swimshop.co.uk/media/catalog/product/cache/6/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/e/l/eliteclosenavyblue-ss-03.jpg 
> 
> meet warmup is important BECAUSE: there's like 80 million people swimming in a pool meant for 10 people (or that's what it feels like). there's no room to do anything. it's a struggle.
> 
> finals v. prelims: so it works like the olympics, again- they take your seed time and they put you from worst to best (heat one is the slowest, etc etc). once you swim for real, they take that time and they rank you. in this meet, they have A, B, and C finals. In C finals, it's the 18th to the 13th best swimmers, B is the 12th to the 7th, and then A is the 6 best that meet. You swim your race, and then if you make finals, you come back that night. I skipped around a lot because I have no idea what I'm doing and I was trying to fit a lot in not too many words. 
> 
> lane 1 v lane 6: the lane you're placed in depends on your ranking. if you're the best in your heat, you go to lane 4 because then you don't get hit by all the waves from the other swimmers (it's like a hierarchy, a small advantage you get as a prize for being #1). the last ranked person is in lane 6. but, when they give out the medals for 6th and up, you do it in lane order and you stand on the blocks, sixth place to lane 6, fifth place to lane 5, etc.

When Murphy’s alarm went off at 5:15 AM, he threw his pillow at nothing in particular, pressed snooze, and rolled over. When it went off at 5:24, he threw his other pillow. And, when it went off at 5:28, he screamed a soft “motherfucker” into his last remaining pillow, threw back his covers, and stumbled blindly around his dark room in an attempt to find clean sweatpants. 

Murphy sort of drove into a trash can on the way to the pool (he says sort of because it was 5:30 and he was going less than 20 miles per hour, and does that really count?), and he fell asleep at a red light more than once. But, to his dismay, he did make it to the pool less than five minutes late, and he dove into the water at a record breaking (for him, of course, he knew personally that Bellamy had clocked in at 3:37 once) 16 minutes late. 

For his hard work, he was rewarded by being left alone for half of the 400 freestyle he skipped during the middle of warmup and then being lent a hat when they all trooped to the bus at seven in the morning in under 20 degree weather. The bus driver was nice enough, allowing Jasper to blare rap songs that he had no business listening to and ignoring Octavia’s piercing voice as she addressed anyone and everyone on the team about whether or not they knew about Brad and Angie’s latest charity project. 

When the bus pulled into the parking lot of whatever college had succumbed to the parents of rich children and agreed to host the meet, Murphy yanked out one earbud, turned down his music and prepared for the shitty pep talk he knew Bellamy was going to start spouting. Probably something about how they’d been working towards this all season, and how he was so glad that they’d bonded and worked hard and come through adversity to be this great bunch of second goddamn cousins that are all in love with each other and refuse to admit it, and then Clarke would turn bright red and Bellamy would clear his throat and then they’d end up fucking at the Olympics or something. 

That’s exactly what happened. Murphy felt like a prophet, like one of those guys who spouts nonsense and gets killed in the desert (why would he listen when his parents dragged him to church when he could be sleeping instead). When he started mouthing the words alongside the captain, Clarke pointed a finger gun at his head and he shut up. Murphy was pretty sure Jesus didn’t have to deal with crazy blonde girlfriends, but then again, he’d never read the Bible so he wouldn’t know. 

Raven leaned over the back of his seat and pushed his head a little. Murphy just barely caught the smile that was about to slip onto his face and turned it into a scowl. “What are you thinking about, asshole?” she asked lightly. 

Murphy grinned, more teeth than smile. “All the parallels between myself and the Messiah.” 

Raven laughed, loud, prompting another finger gun from Clarke. “Sorry, Cap, it’s just that Murphy here thinks he’s Jesus Christ,” she called out, a little louder than Murphy thought was necessary. 

Clarke scowled as Murphy held up the cross on the chain around his neck. “I’m allowed to make jokes, I go to church!”

“Shut up, you’re offensive, nobody cares what you have to say,” half the bus chanted flatly. Murphy was beginning to think they’d practiced this mantra just to get him to shut up. He was ashamed to say that it worked. 

“Now that Murphy has said something insensitive,” Bellamy finished, “and everything is right with the world, we can go kick some ass. We sit on the far side, top bleachers, and don’t get in to warmup until the very end, it’s a madhouse.” 

Murphy popped in his other earbud and trooped into the college with the rest of his team, scowling at the excited freshmen and chipper volunteers that he passed along the way. Miller slapped him on the back as they yanked off sweatpants and T shirts, saying something about how he should be getting hype. Murphy gave him the finger, like he always did, and Miller slapped him again. “Just what I needed.” 

The time between arrival and when they jumped in the pool passed by Murphy in a blur of angry music and humid air (and feeling choked to death by his fastskin), so when he dove into the pool still feeling a little dazed and some jackass Grounder swam right into him, he didn’t exactly hold back. 

And then, when Bellamy pulled him out of the water and he landed on the deck, breathing heavily and sopping wet, the girl from the bar stood over him, wearing her kneeskin like a coat of armor. 

“Fuck you,” Murphy snarled, spitting out the blood running through his teeth. 

She didn’t say anything, just smiled, like a promise. 

Murphy cursed once more, softly, and rested his head on the deck. 

\- -

“What the hell were you thinking?” Monroe watched as Bellamy shoved Murphy into the bleachers where the rest of the team was sitting, and he landed amongst the bags with his trademark scowl. Bellamy didn’t look impressed. “You’re better than that, Murphy! And now we have to replace you for both A relays and you made all of us look like a jackass in front of every private school on the east coast!” 

Murphy dragged his hand across his mouth to wipe away the blood that pooled at his lip. “Maybe I don’t want to have every breath I take represent my team,” Murphy snarled. “When I tell you what you see is what you get, you’re supposed to fucking listen, not think I have some hidden heart of gold.” 

The look on Bellamy’s face was enough to silence the entire team. “Get out,” he said, once, softly. 

Murphy stood up, spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground at Bellamy’s feet, and walked away.

“Bellamy-“ Clarke started, staring at Murphy’s retreating back.

“Don’t, Clarke.” 

Monroe watched silently as her teammate walked away and her captains looked as though they were ready to shatter, unable to articulate her feelings until she heard Harper whisper from behind her “why are we always so fucking dysfunctional?” 

Monroe couldn’t agree more. 

\- -

Clarke was about ready to kill someone. Bellamy was being a tool, Murphy had gotten himself suspended from the meet, Octavia skipped warmup to go make out with Lincoln in an undisclosed location, and her phone was at ten percent. 

The only thing that was making her feel slightly better was Monty’s presence on the bench beside her. Even with her earbuds in, Clarke could hear him joking with Jasper, making it seem like not everything had fallen apart. And then, her phone died. 

Clarke panicked. “No, please don’t, not now, not-“ 

“What’s going on?” Monty asked quickly, his concerned face cutting into the side of her vision at the same time Jasper said sardonically “I don’t think shaking it is going to help.” 

“My phone, it’s dead and I can’t- I can’t-“ and then Clarke surprised even herself when she started to cry in earnest. 

“Go get Bellamy,” Monty told Jasper quietly before turning back to Clarke. “It’s not like it’s dead forever. We can always bring it back to life with an outlet and a charger.” 

Clarke shook her head as her breath came in little gasps. “I need to listen to it before my race, Monty,” she sobbed, clutching her phone with two hands. 

Monty stammered until Bellamy arrived, looking harried in his flannel and fastskin, his goggles still around his neck. “What’s wrong?” he asked Monty fiercely. 

“I don’t know, her phone died and she’s talking about how she can’t swim because-“ 

“Holy fuck,” Bellamy breathed, and then his arms were around Clarke and her face was pressed into the front of his shirt. Jasper hovered anxiously behind him until Monty pulled him away by the back of his shirt and told him to act normal for once in his life, goddamn it. 

Clarke could feel Bellamy’s breastbone pressing against the tip of her nose, her earbuds muffling the words Bellamy was whispering into her hair. “It’s dead,” she said in lieu of an explanation, suddenly dropping her phone as though it burned her. “I forgot to charge- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forgot-“ 

Bellamy gently peeled Clarke’s face away from his shirt and held it in both of his hands. Her eyes moved slowly from his collar all the way to his eyes, tear tracks painting their way down her cheeks. His vision suddenly split and there she was, thirteen years old, the last one in the pool, sobbing as she clutched the first rung on the ladder. “I’m so sorry, I forgot, I couldn’t save him,” she told him, because he was the only one there to tell. 

And here she was, four years later, with the same lost look on her face, the same one that had managed to crack through the heavy armor he’d placed on his heart to protect himself from her. “It’s okay,” he soothed, swiping his thumbs under her eyes. “Look at me. Hey, look at me.” 

And then he said the same words he’d said to her so long ago. “You’re forgiven.”

When her breath evened out and she closed her eyes, leaning her face into his hands ever so slightly, he knew those two words meant so much more. 

\- -

Octavia could feel the war brewing on the deck. Yes, it was just a swim meet, but for all of the kids in the last heat, the kids that had nothing and everything to lose, it was life and death. And Octavia knew about life and death. 

People were whispering about Clarke, about her breakdown (confirmed) and Bellamy’s whispered profession of love (rumor), people were whispering about the Grounder’s secret plan of sabotage, and people were whispering about how if you asked the snack people really nicely they’d give you a soft pretzel for 75 cents instead of a dollar. But mostly, they were whispering about the Mountain Men, a team from a boarding school in Mount Weather who was ranked first in the nation and looked even more conceited than Thelonius Jaha (and for Octavia, that was saying something). 

Octavia knew they were good. After Clarke had spent the entire warmup wrapped in Bellamy’s arms, they’d raced in the last heat of the 200 Medley Relay and come in second by a good ten seconds to the Mountain Men (still their team name, even if it was Co-ed, which not only confused everyone but made them slightly more scared). 

Octavia also knew they were obnoxious. Every time one of their own came up to swim (usually in one of the better heats), they went batshit crazy. They kept singing “she’ll be comin’ round the mountain” because they thought they were really cool, and when their resident superstar Cage Wallace climbed up on the blocks, it was like he was Murphy’s prized Messiah. 

The war seemed like it was tipping in the Mountain Men’s direction, too, especially after the way that the Grounders had fucked their team over. Instead of letting her speed speak for itself, Lexa, their team captain, had stood in front of Clarke when it was her turn to swim, keeping her away from the block by saying that she must have read the sheet wrong and she was in the heat after. Clarke was disqualified and furious. The only person who was more angry was Bellamy. 

When he dove into the pool for his prelim 100 fly, it was a race made completely of a desire for revenge. He was seeded second going into the final, only after Emerson, a senior projected to go to the next Olympics. 

Clarke swam the opposite, making it into the A final by the skin of her teeth and adding ten seconds to her best time. 

Octavia watched as her teammates clocked in returns for finals left and right, Monty shattering his best time and making it into the A final after being originally seated 16th, Jasper coming in seventh and making it back to be the first seed in the B final for the 50 free, Harper and Monroe both C finaling in their events, and Bellamy swimming better than he ever had in his entire life. 

She also watched as Clarke sat off to the side with her earbuds in her ears, looking like she’d seen a ghost. The focused face of her captain was gone and the face of a child had replaced it, and it scared Octavia shitless. 

“Hi,” Octavia said, plopping herself down next to Clarke and bumping shoulders. “You look terrible.” 

“Very nice, O,” Clarke responded, a poor imitation of her former vibrance. 

“I’m going to be honest with you, Clarke, because you’ve always payed me the same favor.” Octavia paused, watching Clarke’s face carefully before continuing. “So just shut up and listen to me be truthful about some very emotional and important things.” 

Clarke nodded almost imperceptibly. Octavia took a deep breath. 

“I’m not obtuse like everyone else on this team. Well, some of them are somewhat perceptive, but they’re all pretty lucky, because as far as I know, they don’t understand the thin line between life and death like we do, right?” Octavia almost smiled to make what she was saying easier, and then she remembered her promise to be honest. “So I know what’s going on with you because I watch the news and Bellamy tells me everything and I consider you my friend, so I make it my business to know these things. It’s a combination of those three factors, is what I mean to say.” 

Octavia took a deep breath and told herself to stop rambling. “I sort of fell in love with you. Not like that, not in the way my brother has, but I haven’t had anyone to look up to like you since my mom, and that’s huge. For me. And the thing that I always loved about you is that you knew how to keep your ghost around without letting it kill you, you know?” 

Clarke didn’t meet Octavia’s eyes, pretending like she didn’t understand Octavia’s convoluted metaphor. Octavia decided to clarify. 

“You let your dad in through the music but you didn’t let him destroy you, and I don’t know why you can’t shake that today, but you’re going to have to. Because the team needs you, yeah, but most of all because I swim in ten minutes and I’m not diving in unless I know that you’re okay and on the sidelines cheering, because I don’t want to be in the pool if you aren’t too.” 

Clarke pulled an earbud out of one ear and offered it to Octavia. Octavia leaned her head gently onto Clarke’s shoulder and let the classical piano drown out all the other noise.

“My dad was an insomniac,” Clarke said into the silence between songs. Octavia hit the pause button on the headphone cord slowly, like Clarke was an animal she couldn’t afford to startle away. 

“He could never sleep, so he used to go play Bach in the middle of the night. And sometimes, when I’d wake up for morning practice, I’d find him at the piano bench and he’d tell me how proud he was of how hard I worked and how dedicated I was and how I should never end up like him, like my old man, only playing piano in the dead of night when everyone else was asleep. That day, he was there, at the piano.” 

Octavia could feel her heartbeat in her throat as she reached for Clarke’s fingers and gripped them like a lifeline. 

“That’s what I swim for. When I listen to the piano, I can imagine he’ll be there when I get out, to say all that stuff again.” Clarke pressed play, and Octavia had to strain to hear what she said next: “he never is.” 

Octavia squeezed Clarke’s hand, once, and whispered “I am.” 

When Octavia stepped up to the block for her 100 breaststroke, Clarke was standing next to Bellamy, holding a stopwatch and cheering so loud they drowned out everyone else in the entire stadium.

\- -

When Bellamy watched Clarke’s hand glide into the wall a full three body lengths before anyone else in the pool, shattering the meet record by 3 seconds, he wasn’t a part of the screaming, or the jumping up and down, or the weird fist pumping that Jasper was doing. He forced down a smile and he looked Clarke in the eye, and he nodded. She wiped the smile off her face just as quickly and nodded back, an inside joke that lasted since the beginning of their reluctantly named “rivalry.” 

And then, she climbed out of lane six and she walked her way over to lane one, stepping on the block wearing the medal that she’d been dreaming about since her first day on the high school team. This time, when Bellamy nodded at her, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Neither could she. 

And as Bellamy made his way over to the blocks to stand and wait for his heat in the final of the 100 fly, she walked past him with her head held high, not looking him in the eye, just grabbing his hand and squeezing it, once, hard. Bellamy cleaned the fog out of the lenses of his goggles and curled his hand into a fist, still feeling hers in the space left behind. 

He watched the kids in front of him swim their races, climbing out with doublewide grins or crumpled faces, their dreams either made or shattered. While they made their way back to their team, Bellamy inhaled deeply and stepped onto the blocks of lane three. A quick glance to his left told him that Carl Emerson, the guy from Mount Weather who’d beat him in prelims looked like he was ready for murder. 

“Swimmers, take your mark,” Bellamy heard the voice as though his ears weren’t attached to his body, his muscles tensing as he reached down and grabbed the lip of the block with both hands.

And then the horn blared and Bellamy felt every muscle in his body fire at once, diving into the pool with his arms in an airtight streamline and kicking with every bit of strength he possessed. 

A 100 fly is a sprint, and Bellamy took it out that way, neck and neck with Emerson at every turn until the Mountain Man began to pull away after the first 50, leaving Bellamy vying with the Grounder next to him for second. 

But, at the final turn, Bellamy realized something, something huge and insurmountable. 

He had nothing to lose.

So he put his head down and he refused to breathe, each stroke causing the fire in his lungs to burn hotter until he felt like it would rip out of his throat, but by some miracle he kept moving, kept driving himself forward with everything he had, and then, when he finished and closed his eyes, too tired to look at anything but the darkness on the insides of his eyelids, the screams told the results for him. 

He felt Octavia’s hands on his wrists, dragging him out of the pool, and chattering his ear off even as he collapsed onto the deck, sitting with his head on his knees and doing nothing but breathing. 

He then stood up, shakily, leaning against the block for support until he was barreled over by a flash of blonde. Clarke’s breath was hot on his neck and her arms were clasped around his neck and it took Bellamy a couple of heartbeats to wrap his arms around her and squeeze. When she pulled back and pressed her lips against his cheek, Bellamy knew he was a goner.

He could still feel the imprint of her mouth when the meet director placed the medal around his neck and he stepped up onto the block to the deafening cheers of his team. 

He climbed down to a slap on the back from Monty and Jasper’s knuckles rubbing down hard on the top of his head, and then Octavia jumped onto his back, still screaming, and he gave her a piggyback ride as she thrust one fist in the air and held Clarke’s hand above her head with the other. Miller ambled up, grinning like an idiot, and even Raven punched him in the arm and told him what a “fucking stud” he was. 

And that, Bellamy was proud to say, was how his season ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna briefly apologize because (a) this took me a really long time, (b) it went in a completely different direction than i was expecting, (c) i'm almost positive my characterization is waaaaay off, and (d) i'm not happy with it completely but i can't let it sit around on my computer anymore, so, out into the world wide web it goes. 
> 
> i'm also sorry the part with clarke got so sappy and weird, it was important for the development with the blake siblings and because they get each other. 
> 
> AND i'm sorry because this was orginally only supposed to be 3 chapters, then i pushed it to 4, now 5 (because I forgot i needed to talk about the fallout, tie up loose ends, etc). 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it or didn't think it was terrible and that you hmu on the media and send me any requests you have because i need inspiration and a way to procrastinate studying for my finals. thanks for reading and putting up with my terribly long breaks from updating. i owe you one.


	5. the party (or the part where everyone's just happy there's no practice the next day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end of an era (or just a swim season, but who can really tell the difference?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TERMS AND IDEAS
> 
> i feel like this chapter is okay, because there isn't much swimming, but the whole pretense of this chapter is that they're having an end-of-season party for the team because that's what my team does and i feel like other teams do this too, no matter what sport, and anyways gag gifts are like little trinkets from the dollar store that poke fun at each individual team member that are given out by the captains. and that's pretty much it.

Octavia had been setting up Clarke’s house for this dumb end-of-year party for hours. It wasn’t like Bellamy was any help, he was sulking in the basement with Miller, talking about God knows what while they “made sure there were enough sodas.” Octavia was pretty sure that didn’t take two hours, but Clarke didn’t seem to notice, and Octavia didn’t want to tell her anything that would make her snap. 

Octavia’s club coach (and Clarke’s mom, which Octavia had conveniently forgotten about during the high school season) was setting out fancy ice buckets and Coke Zero, and Clarke looked like she was going to explode. “Mom, can you just please go check to see if the bathroom has toilet paper or something?” 

Doctor Griffin looked at her daughter like she was a foreign creature and nodded, heading out of the dining room and into Clarke’s massive and empty house. 

“You alright?” Octavia asked slowly. The doorbell rang, but Octavia stepped in front of Clarke as she tried to go answer it. “Let your mom play hostess and just answer me, okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Octavia raised her eyebrows. “I’m fine,” Clarke insisted. “It’s just been a while since we’ve had people in the house, since Dad- we haven’t had people over in a couple of years. People that aren’t my mom’s rich doctor friends, I mean.” 

Octavia suddenly remembered the way Bellamy used to talk about Jake Griffin and how he never missed a meet and he sometimes brought sugar bread to practice for a long moment. Then, she thought about her mom and how she’d spent a couple of months locked up in her room, and how people talking about it only made her feel worse. 

“Yeah. I guess I never realized that you always went over to other people’s.” 

Clarke’s face slipped into her sideways grin and Octavia felt herself let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. There was something odd about the fact that Octavia had seen Clarke cry more in the past week than she had in the entire time they’d known each other. 

“Maybe I’m just sneaky,” Clarke said, and Octavia knew everything was okay. 

\- -

When Jasper and Monty began a “ping pong match to the death”, Octavia knew that the party had really started. Harper, Monroe, and Miller were all settled into the couch talking about everything and nothing the way only they were good at, and Clarke was listening with her hand on her chin because “you can never get too good at small talk.” Bellamy was next to her, watching a bad TV movie with Raven and Wick, and his leg was crossed over Clarke in a gesture that Octavia doubted he even noticed. 

Octavia got Monty’s attention, pointed and Clarke and Bellamy’s legs and fake barfed. Monty laughed and mouthed “I raise you two idiots,” pointing at Wick, who was fumbling with the brace Clarke’s mom had given Raven to keep the effects of the surgery in tip top shape and pointedly ignoring her very loud protests. 

“Come play ping pong with us,” Jasper yelled, waving his paddle around. Octavia grinned and stood up, shooting Bellamy two thumbs up as she passed. When he looked back at her, obviously confused, she rolled her eyes and jerked one thumb in Clarke’s direction. Bellamy’s gaze turned dark very quickly, and Octavia was marginally glad she was on the move so she could escape his angry eyebrows. 

“Okay, so if it bounces off the wall, ceiling, or anyone’s face, it’s in. And you can use your hand as a paddle in case of emergency. And-“ 

Octavia stopped Jasper dead in the middle of his sentence by placing a paddle in front of his mouth. “We’re not in the Olympics, Jas. It’t just ping pong in Clarke’s basement.” 

Jasper pushed the paddle away indignantly. “Did you not hear me say that this was a match to the death?” 

“I take nothing you say seriously,” Octavia said, serving the ball. Jasper barely had time to look wounded before he was roped fully into the game, using every one of his made up rules to its fullest advantage. 

Octavia didn’t stay for the whole match (she didn’t think she could stand having the ball played off her face one more time). Instead, he handed the paddle to Sterling and let the kid try his hand at beating Jasper, who was now holding a paddle in each hand and twirling them, chanting “I am Jackie Chan!”

Monty just shook his head and tossed Octavia a Sprite. They plopped down on the couch next to each other and chatted absently about the pilot episode of Lost, which Harper had forced the whole team to watch. Monty had watched the whole show on Netflix in two weeks his freshman year, and Octavia had stopped halfway through the fifth season (“I’m just saying, the whole time travel thing was more than a little far fetched). They remained that way until the captains had stood up in preparation for their end of year speech and gag gifts.

Octavia got a round of applause for her fifth place finish at finals and a pair of dollar-store sunglasses with the words BAD BITCH printed over the lenses. She proudly put them on and stuck her tongue out at her brother pointedly. Monty and Jasper got Things 1 and 2 wigs, Raven got a “Broadway Special” sequined cane and top hat two-pack, and Miller just got a rock. 

“Hey, Monty, are his abs as hard as his gag gift?” Octavia whispered, and Monty turned bright red. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he hissed, and then when Miller smiled in his direction his blush went down a couple notches. “But I’ll report back once I find out.” 

Raven and Miller proudly presented their captains with matching Mama and Papa Bear T-Shirts and gift cards to Panera, and Clarke gave the seniors their obligatory monogrammed towels that everyone on the team had pitched in and paid for. 

And, altogether too suddenly, the season was over and people were starting to head home with their empty trays of dip and leftover cans of minute lemonade, saying goodbye and posting heartfelt pictures on instagram, ending something that Octavia had always viewed as indestructible and infinite. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself, what to dread the next day if not a three hour practice with Bellamy and Clarke standing together at the beginning of her lane, urging her on. 

But, then, she realized that it wasn’t all over, because they were a family, and, anyways, she was still in Clarke’s house and technically the party cleanup was extending the actual party. And, of course, Clarke and Bellamy were cleaning up everyone else’s messes. Octavia stopped dead at the foot of the stairs to watch as Bellamy and Clarke picked up the empty soda cans. They both pretended they weren't looking at each other in between tossing sodas in white plastic bags. It was somewhat cute and somewhat romantic, but mostly just pathetic.

"It feels like we just sent our children off to college," Clarke said into the silence. "I mean, we're never going to be the same way again. Like this." 

They were suddenly right next to each other. Octavia held her breath.

"That's not always a bad thing," Bellamy whispered, and Octavia had to strain to hear him. "Change." 

"Yeah, well. I scare easy," Clarke said, with the smallest of smiles on her face. 

And then Clarke was standing on her tiptoes and Bellamy had his hands on her cheeks and Clarke was tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck and there was a split second where all they were doing was breathing inches apart from each other

It was like a competition, the way it always was with them, but when they pulled apart for air Clarke giggled against his lips and Bellamy's fingers were stroking her neck.

And then Octavia's ringtone floated out of her pocket, loud into the quiet of the living room, and where Clarke was startled Bellamy was laughing.

"Octavia, out," he said quickly, and then he and Clarke were kissing again and it had ceased to be cute and Octavia was marginally disgusted. She hightailed it out of the room and answered the call from Raven asking whether she could collect on her bets that they wouldn’t realize their feelings before the end of the season.

“Sorry, Reyes, but the season isn’t over until the last guest has left the house, and I just saw something that’s going to make your pockets a lot lighter.”

Octavia heard a shriek come from the phone. “Jordan won the fucking pool? Are you kidding me?”

“Go wait in the car,” Octavia heard Bellamy call from the living room, sounding hoarse. 

“You can’t kick her out-“ and then a squeal, and they were giggling, and Octavia was perfectly happy to wait in the front seat of the truck fielding texts from every single member of the team and telling Jasper that even if there was tongue, she wasn’t going to fucking talk about her brother’s tongue down her teammates throat in “excruciating and hair raising detail.” 

They met for breakfast at the local diner the next morning, anyways, just because Clarke was worried they weren’t eating, and what else was there to do?

Octavia maintained the idea that swimming was fucking torture for the complete sixteen years she competed. And then, after she’d say that, she’d crack a smile and she’d put her cap on and fit her goggles over her eyes to dive in the water yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's over. three chapters turned into five, this fic got way more ambitious than i ever wanted it to be, and it's done. it took 3 computers, several long nights, and a LOT of writer's block, and i'm only sort of happy with the way it turned out, but whatever. bellamy and clarke are making out and the whole squad's happy, and that's all that matters. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed the fic. if you stuck with me during this crazy ride and you've read every chapter and you've been one of the lovelies that commented on the first chapter, or the second or the third or the fourth, or even on this one, i thank you immensely and i want you to know that you are what kept this piece of writing from being abandoned because i'm fifteen and fickle and utterly irresponsible and you are the sole reason that this was counteracted. thank you, thank you, thank you.


End file.
